in snatches, we see
by Nayuki-Bunny
Summary: they moved in fits and bursts; forward, always forward / a story told in nine glances
1. i- before

He'd let her down gently when they returned to the village, briefly bracing her against his chest before drawing away. She had never lowered her eyes from his face, and it felt like an eternity before her toes brushed the ground.

He was letting her go in the same breath-catching moment that she suddenly feared he was a delirious dream: destined to shatter like bone china.

She'd curled her fingers into the mesh of his shirt desperately, perhaps in some attempt to anchor him to herself. He paused expectantly. His heartbeat was subdued and soothing under her palm.

Years later, lying in bed and watching shadows dance on her ceiling, she will remember almost asking him to tell her again. To repeat what it was that had caught his attention. She will remember the way the stray strands of hair clutched in his hand gleamed vividly in the wan light.

Instead, she'd slowly loosened her hold and murmured "thank you."


	2. ii

She doesn't tell him that she likes his lingering stares.

She's never completely sure, but she wants to believe that it's her he looks at so often in between blinks and moments of the day. It's something she pretends not to notice, but her skin prickles and her spine straightens traitorously each time.

She steals her own sidelong glances when she can, though she swears to invisible ears that it's to catch him first.

She imagines confronting him about it one day; striding up to him with borrowed confidence and impassive eyes. She pictures her hair, longer now, sweeping at the backs of her thighs like a bright, billowing banner.

She shuts her eyes and sees his flushed face, hears a couple murmured excuses.

Or maybe a single, simple reason. One that makes her toes curl and her heart sing a sleepy song.

She doesn't tell him that she likes his lingering stares because she's afraid of what he won't say.


	3. iii

He fights like a dancer.

There is a grace in the curves of his limbs and the bend of his wrists. She isn't, doesn't want to be, one of the nameless, faceless girls who watch him while he spars. She's afraid they'll swallow her up and wipe her clean with anonymity.

That he'll never look, never see her again.

She passes by the training grounds, willing herself not to listen to the gaggle of giggling girls. She's almost stepped out of sight, weapons for practice cradled in her arms, when her legs lock. She waits, one, two, three, then looks back.

He's pushing his sunlit hair out of his eyes and nodding politely to the sighing girls. His jacket is discarded somewhere behind him. Her nails bite into her palms and she moves to turn away, but not before he catches sight of her.

A long, lean arm lifts in a wave and her heart does an idiotic trip-stop.

She trains an hour longer that day, dreaming of strength and selfish secrets, and lets the memory of his golden glow warm her cheeks.


	4. iv- during

The times of day when the sun streaks blood over long clouds is when she thinks of home. Sometimes, if she squints, the line between sky and soil blurs enough that it becomes a singular streak of runny color.

Her memory is the same way—the lines between her home (_old and gone_) and her heart (_young and foolish_) have faded into a haze of overlapping, intertwining emotion. The only memories she has left are of dusty houses and mossy stone lit a fiery red. Like the burning contained in the pit of her stomach.

And then she feels impossibly small and incredibly alone.

Her nails are biting half-moon circles into her palms when she hears the sound of grass sighing under wandering footsteps.

"Hey."

He's watching her again, seemingly content to say nothing. There are a few aching moments of silence, and then she turns to him, her scarlet hair dancing. He blinks.

"What do you want?" she scowls distrustfully.

His eyes are a calm, cool blue. She wonders darkly if he's regretting speaking, but he grins at her winningly.

"Let's go to Ichiraku," he says. "I'll buy you salt ramen. That's your favorite, right?"

The burning in her stomach dissipates, like smoke. Distantly, she realizes her hands have uncurled from tight fists. There are suddenly a thousand different thoughts running through her mind, and they all clamor deafeningly in her ears.

_(what, what, but why, but you- how can I trust you to be real when you were only ever a dream?_)

"…Why would you want to go with me?" she asks, her voice smaller than she would like.

His expression flickers, then. "Why not?"

And then she is light, light, light as air, and she fights back her blush, fights back her doubt, and says okay.


	5. v

There is a gnawing feeling in her chest that tells her that this isn't right.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later," Mikoto had said, deftly weaving her hair into an intricate braid. "You've always noticed him."

"It's hard not to," she'd muttered defensively, "but when did he stop being a sissy flake?"

All Mikoto's bubbly laugh had done was effectively cement her doubt. It lurked behind her like a shadow as the months wore on and nothing changed.

"Kushina, you want to get ramen again, today?"

"Kushina, I was waiting for you!"

"Hey, Kushina, can you help me with something?"

_Kushina, Kushina, Kushina._

She couldn't resent the girls who muttered questions behind her back, not when the same questions rested on the tip of her tongue.

(when did they become friends? how? why?)

But here they are: walking side by side, trading taunts, calling out "see you tomorrow." Sometimes she thinks that he's waiting for her to trust him. That way his laugh will be all the sharper when the rest of the boys toss their barbed insults from behind him.

_It could happen, _she thinks, cursing herself in between her excuses to talk to him.

_It could happen, _she thinks, when she's made him laugh so hard, he's bent over double.

_It could happen, _she thinks, clutching at the flesh of her stomach in the dead of night_._

But nothing happens. Nothing changes.

And then, scariest of all, it starts to feel right.


End file.
